Birthright
by occhi bella
Summary: A tale of young Lady Van Tassel and her sister. Rating may go up.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Sleepy Hollow is not mine. I make no money from this fanwork.

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_**Prologue**_

After so many months they were used to the sounds, and even the proximity of those sounds. It was only natural that the armies hid and camped and fought under the camouflage of this thick dark forest and today the barking of muskets and the clanging of swords seemed further away than usual.

Nevertheless the two little girls worked hastily in the cold, silent as they gathered branches for their humble little fire. It was always so chilly in this part of the forest, even on warm days. Countless soldiers had died in these woods and their spirits roamed among the trees during the pitch black nights, bringing an icy cold with them that stayed even in summer and silencing the creatures that once chirped and sang in the top branches. Neither the girls nor their mother had ever seen these ghosts, as they didn't venture out at night, nor were they frightened by them, for they had a deep-rooted understanding that death was merely a boundary to be crossed; they were simply aware of these manifestations. Even from inside the little cave in which they lived they could feel and sense those unfortunate souls that had died by gunfire or sword or, in one case, by hanging; souls that couldn't or wouldn't cross that boundary.

The girls were crouched down close by the tree where the hanging had taken place, a thick crooked tree with giant, gnarled roots protruding from the ground. The tree was perched on top of its own little bluff along the old Indian trail but they needed smaller branches and twigs from the ground below.

Sounds of running feet caused them both to stand up, alert. In moments they found themselves face to face with a man they'd seen before, but from a distance. They called him the dark one for his uniform, his fearsome and intimidating appearance and presence, and for the large pitch-black horse he rode. His clothing was black from head to toe and he had black hair. Only his skin stood out as deathly pale, and his eyes were icy blue. His horse was nowhere to be seen now.

Both girls stood rock still, meeting his fierce gaze. The older twin held a bundle of branches that she'd gathered. The younger girl had left the pile of branches she'd gathered on the ground in her haste; she held only a single branch in her hand.

Somewhere behind the man there were voices and the crunch of leaves and snapping of twigs under several pairs of feet. The dark one put his finger to his lips.

"Shhh," he ordered.

The younger twin paused for a moment. Then she held the single branch with both hands and snapped it in two in a single swift, spiteful movement, summoning the soldiers that were looking to apprehend the dark one. Her sister dropped the bundle of branches she held and turned, fleeing in terror, but the younger one stayed, admiring what she'd set in motion, pleased with herself for breaking this powerful and ruthless man. She darted behind a tree and peered around its thick trunk, watching the dark one valiantly fight the soldiers in American uniforms until they bested him, beheaded him with his own sword and buried his body and head up on the little bluff beside the thick twisted hanging tree.


	2. Chapter 1

_**Chapter One**_

They were born at night on the nineteenth of March, seventeen hundred and seventy-two, under a full moon.

Catherine was the spiritual one, Mother would always say, and Mary was the strong one. Not that Mary wasn't magically adept. Elizabeth Archer often remarked with pride that both girls would be exceptionally powerful witches; after all it was during the full moon that a witch's powers were at their fullest and they had been born under a full moon, an auspicious sign. But Catherine was beyond exceptional. She was tuned into another realm in a way that Mary would never be. Despite the fact that they were identical and had so many of the same traits the true birthright was Catherine's. And although they shared the same birth date and had been born only a few minutes apart, they were actually born under different signs. Mary was born twelve minutes later than her sister, in the moment that the sun left spiritual, sensitive Pisces and entered courageous, headstrong Aries.

Unlike Catherine, who was afraid to go to Sleepy Hollow and had been terrified of the dark one, Mary was fearless for the most part; or if she was afraid she defied it and pressed on anyway. She was the one who betrayed the dark one on that cold winter day and she valiantly remained there to watch him meet his death, observing his burial and marking it well. One day, when the time was right, she would raise his spirit and use it to wreak havoc on all of the people that had done her and her family wrong.

For now she and her sister continued to survive.

Set into a large rock formation the cave that was their home was cold and damp but fairly easy to keep warm with a constant fire due to its small size. The tricky part was making sure that some air came into the cave, so that the candles and fire continued to burn and they wouldn't suffocate. They had therefore loosened some of the stones on one side a long time ago when they first moved in, and they removed one or two at a time in order to create a small window during the winter. In the summer they removed additional stones as needed to allow more fresh air in and on extremely hot days they kept the wooden door to their little hovel open. They'd hollowed out the hearth along the back wall opposite the front door, with an opening in the roof above it so the smoke would have someplace to go. They used the hearth for cooking as well as for heat.

The cave was populated with large, flat boulders that they'd brought inside when they first arrived and turned into makeshift furniture. In addition, they had a long, low wooden table that they'd managed to bring with them from the cottage, and this they used for both meals and work. Three stone blocks were set around it, one for each of them. Further back in the cave they'd managed to assemble a large makeshift bed by pushing together several stone benches and two of the large trunks that they'd used to move their things out of the cottage. Layers of blankets covered the surface of this bed, making it comfortable enough, and they would huddle together to keep warm in the winter. During the hot summer months on nights that the cave became unbearable they would drag the bundles of linens outside and climb up to the top of the structure, where they'd spread out a thick blanket and stretch out under the stars.

Theirs was an existence of hardship, for they lived in the middle of the woods now, exposed to all of the elements and fending completely for themselves. They gathered fruits and vegetables, tree nuts, and various herbs from the woods and Mary supplemented their meals with the foodstuffs that she picked up in town once or twice a week. In the evenings the girls worked by candlelight, sewing charm bags and potpourri, drying herbs and flowers, mixing all kinds of herbs and oils, which could be used for various purposes. These creations allowed them to have things like flour and eggs; they had no money but they traded their sachets and charm bags and herbal remedies for those foods. Despite the fact that the residents of Sleepy Hollow refused to help them because their mother had been accused of witchcraft – the black and evil kind, as their town leader Peter Van Garrett insinuated – many of the women were believers and even practitioners of the craft. In secret they ventured into the woods and came to see Elizabeth Archer when she was still alive, seeking magical advice concerning healing, protection, fertility, even love. Hypocrites, Mary always thought in disgust when they arrived.

When their mother passed away the two girls took up and continued the tradition. Mary traded their magical concoctions in town for food. Once in awhile a braver soul still ventured into the woods and to their cave for a reading or a séance with Catherine, who could channel spirits. Sometimes their visitors paid with money, but most often they brought food or blankets to exchange.

Nobody in Sleepy Hollow cared that they no longer attended the village school.

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The voices of her former schoolmates rang out in a taunting sing-song rhyme, filling the air and lingering on the wind. They finished their song after awhile and erupted in peals of laughter.

Ten-year-old Mary Archer kept her head high and her gait steady as she continued along the main road of the village, maintaining a purposeful yet nonchalant air as she made her way. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a couple of the braver children running from the center of the clearing where they'd all gathered to play, approaching the road and feinting as if they would block her way. It was merely a threat and a game, she knew, because they were afraid and didn't have the nerve to actually get in her way.

Her eyes blinked involuntarily and she cursed them inwardly for making her flinch. One of the boys was Dirk Van Garrett and she gritted her teeth, seething. But they'd only won one tiny battle. She would _not_ cross to the other side of the road, the side furthest from the open field where her old classmates ran; though she longed to put that distance between them she refused to show her discomfort. Even if it were not for the baskets of eggs and buckwheat flour and other food that she carried, even if her hands were free of any burden she would _not_ put them to her ears to block out their teasing and taunting. She would never yield even those small victories to them.

"_Soon,"_ she said in her head as she walked, refusing to look at them and acknowledge them by doing so. _"Soon you'll all be dead. You'll be first, Dirk Van Garrett, you and your father. Then the rest of you will follow."_

Clutching her packages tightly she continued on. One time during a trip into town she was returning with a heavy load and the basket slipped from her hand while she was passing the field, in front of all of them, and the eggs tumbled out. She'd salvaged most of the contents of the basket but several of the eggs were splattered in the road, yolks bleeding into the dirt. One younger boy with fiery red hair stooped down beside her and began to help her gather up the intact eggs and place them in the basket, speaking kind words. Fuming with humiliation and fury she couldn't hear him; she only heard the cackles of the other children and the boy's friends calling him Killian and urging him to stay away from the witch's daughter, for she certainly must be a witch too.

These days she didn't have to bring back very much from town, for it was just herself and Catherine now and they only needed basic staples that they couldn't grow or gather in the woods – sugar and molasses, grains, milk and cheese, eggs from the Winship farm. The only other town within walking distance was a full day's journey round trip on foot, too much trouble for such a small amount of shopping and besides, as much as Mary hated these excursions into Sleepy Hollow she refused to be intimidated. The village folk would laugh and say that she was afraid if she suddenly ceased to appear there every once in awhile to restock, and she had too much pride to allow that.

Children were cruel and often frightening, especially in packs, but they mimicked what they heard and in the end they were only trying to hide their own fears in the games that they played. The grown-ups were much worse. They were nasty and hypocritical and vile. They attended church every Sunday and read their bibles and made every pretense of being good, charitable Christians. Lady Winship and the other folks that she encountered during her shopping expeditions always politely asked after Catherine and her, but from the time that the family was first in need not one of these charming upright citizens of Sleepy Hollow ever offered a helping hand; not when their father died and they were forced out of their home, not when their mother fell gravely ill and not when she and her sister became orphans. Instead they vilified and ostracized the family. She hated every one of them.

She was at the end of the road and the village proper now. With the last of the houses and storefronts behind her she was almost safe. Turning left she followed the path that wound around the vast Van Garrett lands and eventually disappeared into the woods. Upon reaching the halfway mark the old ruined cottage on the land came into view and Mary stopped as always to briefly observe the family that lived there now.

Once she had lived in this cottage with her mother and father and Catherine. Their father, Henry Archer, had worked in the fields for Peter Van Garrett and the two girls had attended school and played with the other children of the town. Elizabeth, their mother, cooked and sewed and performed her daily rituals to draw blessings over the hearth; when not in school or at play Mary and her sister sat with their mother and learned the ways of the wise women that had come before them and of the power that existed in the cycles of the natural world and the universe. Their father was artistic and crafty, and in his spare time he'd etched into the stone back of the fireplace the figure of an archer, their namesake, holding a drawn bow with knocked arrow, aimed and ready for release. They loved that carving, delighted in watching it come to life behind the flames that danced in the hearth. It was a talisman of protection. Now a couple and their tiny baby lived there, a family that was not named Archer, a family that had no claim to their hearth and its carved figure, or to their cottage.

She lingered for a few minutes, listening to the shrill wail of the loathsome girl child that cried endlessly and watching the shadow that moved inside the house. The form of a pretty young woman with long blonde hair appeared at the window cradling a small bundle in her arms. She swayed gently and the piercing cries slowly grew softer until they finally subsided.

They would be the next to go, the woman and her husband and the tiresome child, but not until Peter and Dirk Van Garrett received their come-uppance.

Mary venomously spit in the direction of the house and began walking again. She reached the edge of the woods and quickened her steps, breathing easier now that the thick forest had enfolded her form into its bosom and the trees shut out all signs of the hated village of Sleepy Hollow.


End file.
